


The Truth Lies Beneath

by Mangacat



Category: Lie to Me (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Complete, Crossover, Gen, Minor Violence, Missing Year!AU, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-08 04:25:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangacat/pseuds/Mangacat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is one of the most notorious criminals that ever graced the FBI’s most wanted list. Now he’s back from the dead (again) and in custody, facing trial for his pretty exceptional list of crimes. It’s up to the experts of the prestigious Lightman Group to unravel the mystery and find out whether Dean is criminally insane or a stone-cold psychopath. Or something else entirely…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is SPN-Missing-Year AU, so you should be up to date on S6. The characters and settings of Lie to Me should be introduced well enough that you can follow without knowing too much about that series though.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story following from Chapter Two

  

 

 

****  
  


[ART POST](http://threnodyjones.livejournal.com/204613.html)

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

  
  


 

[ ](http://s365.photobucket.com/albums/oo93/threnodyjones/SNCBB%20TTLB/?action=view&current=TTLB_banner.jpg)

  
  
The metal door opened with a loud clang that echoed through the dimly lit corridor. Slow, calculated steps could only be identified by the rattling of chains that went along with them, bright silver links clinking against each other with every movement. The sound clashed with the rhythm of hard-soled boots hitting the floor, loud and oppressive in the building that consisted of metal, concrete and wired glass. 

“Prisoner walking.”

The announcement was only ever made to shake up the incoming a little and give them a taste of how the pecking order worked around there. Immediately, the corridor was filled with noise, metal cups rattling against the bars, insults flying, cat calls when the men in their cells got the first good look. However, when that look was returned, a hush suddenly fell over the first cell, a disconcerting quiet rippling on like a wave in that secluded community. Whispers started up instead, and with every clinking step, the atmosphere in the enclosed space became more oppressive. Suddenly the loud and raucous crowd was blanketed with stillness, and the distinctive stench of sweat and anxiety replaced the sound. These were all men that had seen and done their share of very bad things in their time, and it made them wary of the newcomer to a point where the guards began to flex their fingers around their batons and lengthen their strides unconsciously. Because the man they’d just led to his new dwelling of a few square feet between bars and concrete was different from all the thieves, and dealers and killers they also hosted in these walls. 

He had hell in his eyes.

 

 

Gillian walked through the familiar hallways of the building, heels clicking minutely on the polished stone floor. She continued down the corridor with a purpose, unheeding of the expressive pictures on the wall or the bustle in the offices, thick file clutched tightly in her manicured fingers. Ever since she’d put her foot down as a real partner in their business, Cal had been quite accommodating about the way she chose their cases, but the one she was about to bring up now made her apprehensive. First, the request for their assistance had come from the Attorney General’s office, and there would be need for some trouble-shooting just on the basis of that – Cal was notoriously fickle about government work since he’d cut all ties with the FBI. On the other hand, this case was so far down his alley that Lightman was going to sink his teeth into it like a pit-bull. 

She sighed, lips pinched in a frown and looked down onto the sealed file the courier had handed her just a couple of minutes ago as she stopped in front of  Cal ’s office. The young man whose life was documented in this file was either a deeply troubled, delusional individual, warped by a seriously messed up childhood, or he was an ice-cold psychopath, manipulating the court into ruling in favour of his insanity plea. Either way he was a consummate liar who knew how be a lot of different people very convincingly, and now their expertise on lies and human deception would be the only thing that could tip the scales between death row in Supermax or a closed high security mental facility. Both options were not exactly stellar for the defendant, but the question they’d have to answer was whether he deserved to die for his crimes. It would be a challenge to figure out this man no matter how you looked at it, and that was what worried her most. 

 

“Are you going to come in already, or do you want to stand there all day? I could feel you hovering from twenty feet away.”

Cal had thrown open his office door and leaned against the doorjamb looking up at her with that customary squint that always made her wonder how much he got off her face and just… dropped it. She knew from professional experience as a psychiatrist that it was an occupational hazard, this difficulty keeping your brain from processing certain things, cataloguing certain reactions, but Cal Lightman had no off-switch at all. The only differentiation he made was the question of whether he respected the person well enough to just file things without using them. 

“I’ve got a new case for us, but it’s going to take up a good part of our capacity. This is a big one, Cal.”

Gillian could feel the vibrating curiosity turn into downright hostility when  Cal looked at the file she was brandishing and recognized the FBI seal on the back of the cardboard. But he said nothing as he turned in the doorway and walked back to the desk with his rolling gait. He knew that she wouldn’t have accepted the case against his wishes if she didn’t think it worth their while. She barely had time to sit down, before he had thrown himself into the desk chair with his feet up on the shiny wooden surface and motioned for her to hand him the file. Gillian felt inexplicably lighter when she handed over the thick folder, as if a shadow had been lifted now that it was out of her hands. 

 

She watched Cal open the file and scan the papers cursorily before he took his feet from the desk and spread it out on the surface, police reports, interrogation records; a blow up of his mug shot. Gillian contemplated Dean Winchester’s face for a moment, smooth and classically handsome features, big, expressive eyes, visible even with the ridiculous Blue Steel impression, charming. He probably could mould his expression into anything from rugged bad boy to a mother-in-law’s dream; no wonder he was so easily trusted in all his impersonations of law enforcement. Probably had his way with the ladies – liked to tie them up and slash them up pretty good too if she remembered correctly. Gillian already knew they were taking the case; she was just waiting for  Cal to start firing away. This would be one of the toughest psych evaluations they’d ever had to do, but she wouldn’t settle for anything less than one hundred percent, so they could help put this one away forever. 

“Since his arrest has made such a great splash in the news, all kinds of sensationalists have come out of the woodwork. The public defender’s office has turned his case over to McCreedy, who of course came up with the insanity plea the minute he got his hands on the file.”

“McCreedy’s an opportunistic bastard. He’ll milk the case for whatever press he can get out of it, no matter whether a serial killer as good as walks at the other end of it or not. I want the whole dossier digital, get Loker and Torres to analyse whatever footage we have. This one’s not going to get out again if we can help it.”

“There’s one more thing though…”

Cal flicked her eyes at her face for a fraction of a second. 

“Don’t tell me… we’re getting a watchdog.”

“A member of the Attorney’s office will be here throughout the evaluation to make sure the results will hold up in court.”

Cal huffed and went back to the file, completely engrossed within seconds. Gillian took the DVD’s with the interrogation tapes and the digital reports and left for the media centre. In the doorway she hesitated and looked back. Last time  Cal had encountered a high functioning psychopath, he had nearly died from the stupid risks he’d taken, baiting the man like he had. Of course the stakes were different now that his opponent was in federal custody. Still,  Cal was good at what he did, the best, but he was also a man continually searching for his match. And she was afraid of the day he might find it. Find the person that was able to lie to him.

 

Loker and Torres had the silent treatment still going when she stepped into the media centre. Gillian could tell by the jump and swivel they both did when they heard the door. Part of her wanted to roll her eyes at them, but someone needed to keep up being professional here, and, since the other senior partner was anything _but_ at the best of times, it fell to her to make sure that the personal squabbles their employees had with each other didn’t affect their work and otherwise let them sort it out themselves. Gillian dropped the DVD’s on Loker’s desk and went to brief them about their new assignment. 

“I trust you’ve heard about the big arrest and upcoming trial that’s been making waves in the news lately.”

“Right, that nutty serial killer guy, …  Winchester , was it? What do they need us for on this case?”

Torres answered Loker before Gillian had the chance: “Because with a notorious case like that, it never stays with the public defender’s office. Some upscale lawyer takes it pro bono, because the press coverage alone is enough to save you a year’s worth of advertising.”

“That’s right, McCreedy took up the case, and he’s already fabricated an insanity plea based on previous interrogation reports and background. The District Attorney wants our profile to contest the claim, since he believes that  Winchester pretends to be delusional to get his sentence carried out in a closed mental institution instead of federal prison…”

“… which is of course a lot easier to break out of for a guy who has escaped custody multiple times by even appearing dead to the authorities, twice.”

“It’s strange though, isn’t it? I mean, he’s pulled the Houdini on law enforcement so many times and flew under the radar for the better part of his life, and then he gets busted for drunk driving and punching the police officer in the gut when he tries to take him in? It seems a lot sloppier than...”

Gillian nodded at the young woman and then pointed at the material.

“We’ll take all these things into account. I want you to approve the video material as objectively as you can at first though. The FBI agent who compiled this file was very thorough, but I want you to search for anything he might have missed. A lot about  Winchester ’s profile and background is contradictory, and I want the results straight, no matter what we’ll actually find out.”

Gillian left them to their work while she returned to her office where her own copy of the file was waiting for her, whispering of shadows and pain. 

 

When the reception called her with the announcement of an important visitor a few hours later, she gratefully gathered the reports and closed the file, amazed at how much time had passed. Gillian rose from her chair, looking forward to stretching her legs, but her mind was still racing from what she’d learned so far. The records of the  Winchester family were spotty at best, and the picture they made felt like a puzzle that had all the right edges at all the wrong angles. And it made less sense the more information she browsed through. When the reception came into view though, she was greeted with a different kind of distraction. Anna gave her a somewhat strained smile, and then their receptionist pointed to a young woman studying the pictures on the wall next to the entrance.

“Excuse me? Hello, I’m Dr. Gillian Foster. I understand you work with the DA’s office?”

The slender woman turned, blond curls rustling on her back and a bright smile adorning her face when she took Gillian’s proffered hand. She didn’t look like she finished law school more than a couple of years ago, but such things meant little here in the capital. 

“Yes, pleased to meet you, Dr. Foster, I’m Marylou Saunders and here to oversee your profiling work on Dean Winchester. I’m sorry about the bother, seeing as the Lightman Group has had its… altercations with the government, but you’re still excellent at what you do, and we want this case to stand as solid as we can possibly make it.”

 

Gillian smiled at her pleasantly while they shook hands and nodded graciously. Lightman was going to have her for breakfast and spit her out chewed to the bones. 

“I’m sure we can work around any difficulties, if you’re prepared to accept that Dr. Lightman has… unorthodox methods sometimes. Still, he pursues the truth, and he will not let a criminal get off with anything less than justice for the crimes he committed.”

“Oh, certainly, the DA’s office expects nothing less of him. I’m not here to get in your way, I will simply be observing the steps of your work and make sure that all documentation for the trial is sound.”

Gillian wanted to believe her, but she couldn’t help the shudder that ran down her back when she let go of her hand. 

“I’m sure we’re not going to have any problems. Would you like a tour to get better acquainted with the layout of the offices?”

“Oh, please, I would like that. If you don’t mind me asking upfront, what is it with these pictures?”

She pointed at the gallery of portrait photos on the wall. 

“Oh, well, our method of lie detection is based on the fact that we read facial expressions. Microexpressions that only flit over people’s features for a split second, but cannot be hidden, because they’re reflexive reactions to our emotions. There is a certain number of basic emotions underlying all human interaction, surprise, anger, happiness, contempt, fear, and so on.”

Gillian indicated the corresponding pictures to clarify her explanation. Saunders studied them for a moment with interest in her eyes that was laced with boredom in the lilt of her voice.

“So you watch their faces to be able to tell if a person is lying, and, by twitching muscles, they give themselves away?”

Gillian fixed her with a slightly strained smile. 

“That is what it comes down to, yes. But of course there are many more factors that play a role in our profiles, behavioural and psychoanalysis, body language and more. If you come with me I’ll show you the media centre and introduce you to our analysts.”

The groove in her cheek deepened for a moment and the muscles around her eyes tensed. Doubt and scepticism was written all over her face. Well, at least she had promised not to be in the way even though she was obviously not convinced of their scientific approach, small favors. Gillian caught Anna rolling her eyes when she turned to show the DA’s assistant around the office and silently agreed with her. 

 

When they arrived in the centre a few minutes later, it was to find Lightman standing in the middle of the room while Loker and Torres sat at their desks, watching video footage on the panorama screen at the far wall. It was their suspect sitting at a desk in a dreary interrogation room in  Baltimore , looking unwaveringly at the camera while he started what was supposed to have been a confession and ended up being revealed as a diversion.

<”Hi, my name is Dean Winchester. I’m an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach… and frisky women. And I did not kill anyone. But I know who did.”>

Cal motioned with his hand and the video stopped at these words, freezing  Winchester ’s calm and open face on the big screen. He kept looking at it with intense scrutiny, eyes flying in rapid movements over the features and frowning in thought. Gillian didn’t want to interrupt, but she knew from experience that she would have no chance to introduce their company once he was too engrossed in his analysis. 

“ Cal ? This is Marylou Saunders from the _DA’s_ office. She’s here to follow our investigation.”

Lightman turned his head slightly and sized her up out of the corner of his eyes, paying little attention to her after a calculating second as she stepped forward with an outstretched hand.

“Dr. Lightman, pleased to meet you.”

He barely took the time to reach out for her hand, before his eyes swivelled back to the screen, and Gillian kept the indignation that clearly showed on Ms. Saunders face from her own features. If she was still put out by his gruff manners, she wouldn’t have been able to work with him for years now. Sometimes it was irritatingly endearing, at other times… well.  Cal nodded and Loker started the tape again, drawing her attention back to the young man on the screen. 

“What do you see?”

Gillian followed the next words closely. The video was perfect for a reading because  Winchester looked directly into the lens and the camera was close enough to show even minute movements on this face. 

<”Or, rather, what did. Of course, I can’t be sure, because our investigation was interrupted. But our working theory is that we’re looking for some kind of vengeful spirit.”>

 

Gillian looked at  Cal for a moment and confirmed that he had reached the same conclusion that she had come to. Now she understood why the DA had requested their services over all the personal and professional squabbles of the past year. She elaborated her assessment for the benefit of Saunders.

“His demeanour shows confidence and little concern with his situation, which is surprising, considering that he was in custody for being caught literally red-handed at the scene of a homicide, simultaneously making him the prime suspect and blowing his cover of faking his death to evade the allegations of multiple attacks in St. Louis. His choice of words indicates that he’s familiar with law enforcement procedures and regards himself not as a suspect, but more like a fellow officer on the case. It matches with the obvious profile of a vigilante killer augmented by a combination of a paramilitary background and what seems to be paranoid schizophrenia with religious delusions. The previous statement of facts gives us a baseline for when he’s telling the truth off of which we can base further readings. There is no change of posture or a sign of tension in his facial muscles when he talks about the vengeful spirit which indicates that he believes what he says is the truth. It’s not unusual for patients with elaborate religious delusions to read as being truthful. However, that’s when  Winchester ’s case gets complicated.”

 

Saunders looked like she wanted to ask how a high-functioning sociopath with tendencies to religious vigilantism and a rap-sheet that ranged from grave desecration to torture was not complicated yet, but what came out was:

“How so?”

“Because he’s a cocky bastard, is what he is.”

Saunders looked even more confused at that statement and Gillian took it upon herself to translate Lightman to Human once again. 

“Normally, mission killers like him, who are subject to illusionary misjudgement – like mistaking those women in St. Louis for something evil that needed to be eliminated – either regard the authorities as part of the conspiracy, which leads to aggression towards them, or as unfortunate collaterals that have to be persuaded to see the truth of the perceived threat, but Winchester does neither. On the contrary, he seems to be fully aware of how the police will react to his statement, even counts on it as a logical reaction to draw out the ruse in order for his brother to make an escape. For a subject to show such an amount of awareness towards their delusions to the point of being able to use them in such an elaborate set up is nearly unheard of; it requires an immense intelligence and mental control.”

“What does that mean?”

This time it was Loker how chimed in.

“It means that he might either be another one of those really screwed up religious nuts or a stone-cold killer who can lie so well that even we will have trouble telling whether he actually believes what he says or concocted the whole scheme to get off on an insanity plea if he ever gets caught. That he maybe even does it for kicks. To mess with people’s heads just because he can.”

 

Gillian let her gaze wander between the handsome face on the screen and  Cal ’s fixated stare. She knew it was too late to beg off, he had already dug his teeth into the case and was not going to let go again until they had proof either way, but Winchester’s file read like an exercise in contradictions, and she wasn’t sure if anyone should be allowed to delve into the man’s head deep enough to figure out what made him tick. She wasn’t at all surprised at Lightman’s next words even though dread settled heavy in her stomach. 

“There is no way for us to get this one just from watching this age-old footage. I need to see him, up close and personal.”

 

Saunders immediately protested.

“That’s not possible, he’s in an ultra-high security facility, and you don’t have clearance anymore since your FBI contract was terminated…”

“Then you’re going to GET me clearance. The DA said to tell him what we need to make this case airtight, and this is it – we can watch all the footage we want and analyse it to death, and it still won’t change that the only way to reach a conclusion with any kind of certainty is by having him face to face. Either that, or we’re out.” 

Cal leaned back with his arms crossed and looked at Saunders down the bridge of his nose, even though she stood at least an inch and a half taller than him. Gillian knew she would cave well before she reached for her cell, closed fists and that little tick below her left eye a perceptible tell. 

“I’ll have to make a few calls.”

“Do that. In the meantime we’re going to do something useful here by devising a strategy on how to break this fucker, because he likes torturing and killing people, apparently and deserves to stay behind bars for a long time.”

 

While Saunders stalked off in a huff, accompanied by irritated mutters into her sleek cell phone, Gillian threw one more look at Winchester’s open and handsome face staring down from the screen, before she turned to Cal and inclined her head to indicate they should find somewhere more private to talk. He rolled his eyes, but followed her out of the lab anyway. When they were in the corridor out of earshot she prepared to lay down the law:

“You know you can’t let this one get to you, not like Martin…”

“I’m not, you won’t see me going off to dangle myself as bait for this particular psycho; he’s already behind bars after all.”

“You know what I mean. I’m talking about his ability to get under people’s skin. He’ll have an answer to counter everything you throw at him, and you’ll rise to the bait as you always do.”

Cal clutched his chest as if in pain.

“You wound me, love, you know that I’m never anything but a cold-hearted, calculating bastard in search for the truth.”

Gillian sighed and wrote it off as a lost cause. They were already knee-deep in the most controversial and outlandish case that had ever come across her desk.

“Fine. Go, find the truth.”

 

Cal gave her an insincere salute and strode off. A few seconds later, Saunders turned around the corner and approached Gillian with rapidly clacking footsteps.

“I’ve made arrangements for Dr. Lightman to go in tomorrow, but only tomorrow and only him. Any staff that he decides to bring will remain in a strictly observational position. And this doesn’t change the deal about my supervision. I reserve the right to object to any of Dr. Lightman’s methods on the grounds of my authorization from the DA’s office.“ 

Gillian looked at her and wanted to point out that the appointment had been made awfully quickly for her supposed objections and posturing to carry any weight, but for the sake of diplomacy she held back.

“Of course, we will work to close the investigation and put together our findings as fast as we can.”

 

 

Cal radiated restless energy on the two hour drive to the prison, but he barely said a word, clearly combing through all the information he’d soaked up on Dean Winchester during the previous day, cataloguing facial expressions and background details into a comprehensive profile. Gillian was anxious too; the more she had read about the Winchesters, the less the whole case made sense. And there was also the question of the younger brother; after all they were famous for evading custody in the most original of ways. This might be a Supermax prison, but the dangerously volatile co-dependency of their relationship would make it impossible for Sam Winchester not to try and break his brother out. The fact that no sign of him had surfaced by now didn’t bode well. He was an unknown in an incredibly unstable mix, and that made her nervous. 

 

The thick, steel-barred doors closed with a reverberating clang behind them as they passed the double door system that led into the holding area of the prison. Gillian wasn’t intimidated by the bleak walls and the heavily armed guards, but that sound always made it difficult for her not to flinch.  Cal was pressing forwards, barely staying half a step behind the guard that was supposed to lead them to the interrogation room. They arrived to find a run-of-the-mill holding facility with a reinforced door, high barred windows to the outside that let in the sluggish morning light and a polished one way mirror to the attached observation room. Gillian and the rest of the team, including Saunders, were ushered into that room, while Lightman was shown into the interrogation room. It was outfitted with a bolted-down table and two chairs, one facing the mirror with a bolt in the table for securing chains and one with its back to it.  Cal dragged the visitor’s chair away from the table and into a corner with a deliberate screeching noise that made the guards look at him incredulously, before he plopped down into an undignified sprawl, but exactly across from the door where the prisoner would step through in mere minutes. 

  
Gillian took in his carefully nonchalant disposition, but she knew him well enough to realize that he was highly alert underneath the outward, devil-may-care attitude. They had only one shot at this, and under the time constraints it was crucial that  Cal managed to steer  Winchester where he wanted him as fast as possible. She watched the minutes tick by slowly until a shuffle could be heard, and the silhouette of a person appeared in the smoky wire mesh window inserted into the door. A guard opened the door and stepped through leading a man in a non-descript khaki jumpsuit and bound with wrist and ankle chains into the room. Gillian drew a sharp breath at the appearance of Dean Winchester. The latest images of the brothers had been the booking photos of most recent run-in with the law that had ended in the spectacular but ultimately exaggerated news of their deaths some three years ago. Since then, the Winchesters had been successfully flying under the radar, but still, a few more years for a man in his prime didn’t account for the way Dean looked right now. His face was drawn and gaunt, even if still exceptionally handsome, a mutinous streak turning the corner of his mouth down into a slight frown. His movements were awkward in the chains that kept him from taking bigger strides than a shuffle, but listless and resigned all the same. There was little to see of the expected charm and bravado, and Gillian wondered what had happened to him to so drastically alter his whole demeanour. While  Winchester was seated at the table, wrist chains threaded through the bolted ring to make him unable to reach over the whole length to attack, Gillian saw  Cal stare at the mirror out of the corner of his eyes as if he was searching for a glimpse behind the reflection. She could read his thoughts clearly enough – they would have to rethink the whole strategy to account for this situation, but that was, after all, why Lightman had insisted that he needed to meet Winchester face to face in the first place. 

  
  


 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

[ ](http://s365.photobucket.com/albums/oo93/threnodyjones/SNCBB%20TTLB/?action=view&current=TTLB_scene2.jpg)

  
  
The door fell closed behind the two guards, though one of them could be clearly seen through the door, ready to intervene should the necessity arise, and for a few beats no one moved. Gillian didn’t know if waiting him out in silence would get _this_ Dean Winchester to talk, but  Cal needed to push his limits before he could find the buttons he needed to press to make it hurt. Either way, this was going to be a battle of wills from this moment. The silence dragged out to the point where Gillian could feel Saunders start to shift next to her. 

“Isn’t he going to start interrogating  Winchester anytime soon?”

Gillian kept her eyes fixed on the two men in the room while she answered. 

“Lightman wants him to make the first move to be able to gauge reaction to pressure. Some people start talking to fill the void, some become agitated, others petulant or competitive in their silence. Whatever they do, each reaction reveals something. He’ll only engage  Winchester if he sees absolutely no chance to get anything out of him first.”

Saunders turned back to look at the prisoner, but her frown showed that she wasn’t happy with the explanation. Gillian decided that the woman had about as much sense as field of cabbage and was about equally qualified to supervise this whole endeavour. She stifled a sigh and concentrated on  Winchester . He was sitting calmly and upright, staring ahead, which put his eyes just above her navel, but while she was sure that he was well aware that someone was going to be behind the glass, Gillian didn’t get the impression that he was at all interested in engaging them in any way. John Winchester as a well trained veteran and seasoned survivalist had obviously raised his children in a disciplined paramilitary fashion, and his erratic movement pattern over the years suggested an unhealthy sense of paranoid delusion at least. She wouldn’t be at all surprised if he had shown them how to withstand an interrogation as well as how to conduct one in a way that could make them pass as federal agents. 

Not unlikely, but indubitably dangerous.

After a couple more minutes, Gillian noticed a slight shift in  Winchester ’s stance a split second before his eyes snapped up to look directly at her. Then he spoke:

“If you people feel the need to keep me around for this ordeal, can a guy at least get some water?”

Winchester had indeed made the first move, but he had also rigged the game in his favour. He’d ignored  Cal as the obvious authority in the room and still posed a request that was straightforward enough that there was no reason not to grant it. Gillian only took a cursory glance at  Cal ’s raised eyebrows before she stepped out to ask the guard to bring a cup of water.

“So, he cracked and made his first move, that’s points for us, right?”

“Not really, Ms. Saunders. Yes, he opened communication which is good, but he also manipulated us into giving way in our first counter. He made the calculated decision to speak, undoubtedly with a specific goal in mind. Lightman will have to work a lot harder to unbalance him than with just a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, but he’d known that from the beginning.  Winchester is not an ordinary opponent, or your office wouldn’t have gotten the best in this job, despite our recent history.”

Saunders looked put upon – as if she had almost deciphered the veiled insult – but before she could decide whether to answer or not, the door opened and a guard stepped through to put a plastic cup filled with water next to  Winchester on the table. 

The man reached for it with his right hand, chains clinking against the bolt and dragged it over to his other side.  Winchester kept his fingers spread around the rim of the cup, but didn’t actually make a move to drink it. Instead, Gillian saw lips move slightly, muttering words under his breath that were so faint they were unintelligible. She watched fascinated as he fell silent and opened his eyes to look at  Cal directly for the first time since he’d entered the room before he pushed the cup over the table in Lightman’s direction as far as the shackles would let him reach. Only when he lifted his hand away did she realize that something had been dangling in the water – a rosary that was wrapped tightly around his wrist.

Lightman eyed first the prisoner and then the water with a calculating gaze before dragging the chair halfway out of the corner to reach for the cup. Next to Gillian, Saunders moved forward.

“Wait, he shouldn’t be endorsing  Winchester ’s delusions like this.”

“He has no choice. This is obviously a test and a show of good faith.  Winchester grew up within a rigid power structure based on discipline and respect, but for outsiders, that respect needs to be earned. There are obvious ritualistic elements to his crimes, so it’s not surprising that he would choose consecrated water as a test. Besides, Lightman is not here to treat these delusions, but to find out whether they’re genuine or not. And he’s going to do everything he needs to do to determine that.”

For once Saunders looked properly chastised and Gillian hoped she would consider keeping her opinions to herself for a while so she could concentrate on the task at hand instead of providing running commentary for the would-be experts. Thankfully she didn’t miss  Winchester ’s reaction to Lightman taking a sip of water – he looked vaguely expectant for a heartbeat and then relaxed marginally when nothing out of the ordinary happened. 

  


[](http://s365.photobucket.com/albums/oo93/threnodyjones/SNCBB%20TTLB/?action=view&current=TTLB_divider1.jpg)

“So, did I pass the test?”

Winchester didn’t answer, but a cynical grin stretched his lips and he inclined his head a little as if to congratulate  Cal for stating the obvious. Gillian could tell that he was still convinced that refusing to communicate was going to be the best way to derail this interrogation into a disaster of frustration. It didn’t mesh well with the cocky, aggressive attitude they had seen him display in earlier encounters and it made Gillian wonder what might have happened between 2008 and now to change his demeanour so drastically, but it was still a very effective method of evasion. With any other person on the opposite side he probably would have had the advantage by now. Not with Cal Lightman however. 

“You’re still not going to talk to me, are you?”

Winchester didn’t move a muscle. Lightman leaned back with one elbow hanging casually over the back of the chair before he opened the file he had dropped on the table earlier. 

“I didn’t think so. Funny thing is, I don’t need you to. If you allow me to introduce myself, I’m Dr. Cal Lightman and my job is to find the truth beneath people’s lies. I do that by observing what they can’t control. Their faces, their body language, their expression – they tell me everything I need to know. So I’ll talk for a minute and you listen. Oh and feel free to try and keep a straight face.”

Winchester answered with a slight sneer that clearly took up the challenge and seemed to say ‘Be my guest.’

“You’re mother died in a house fire when you were four, traumatizing your father into dragging the family around on a never-ending road trip for the next couple of decades, yadda yadda. Now, that’s a fun way to grow up, isn’t it? Your file must have been Social Services’ perfect nightmare, longest steady school enrolment a couple of months, residential addresses a string of seedy motels and scrapes and bruises on a regular basis and always a handy excuse for your continued absences. No wonder they thought you were a textbook case of parental abuse – no, you can relax, I don’t think daddy was knocking you around – he took it out on something else, didn’t he?”

Cal gave the impression of nonchalantly recounting the contents of the file, but Gillian knew very well that he was watching Winchester like a hawk, eyes jumping all over the place, registering even the slightest muscle movement.

“And in the process, he seems to have left you with a foot and a half rap sheet of petty crime, B&E’s and a curious penchant for digging up dead people. That one might make me worry about your proclivities in the bedroom if they weren’t largely brittle old bone bags with entirely too many holes in them and too little holding them together as well as the fact that you seem to like carving up live and struggling young women a lot more.”

Winchester ’s only reaction was a raised eyebrow.

Cal leaned back for a moment to process the reaction he had gotten from  Winchester . 

“Hmm, interesting… outright disgust at the suggestion of necrophilia, and guilt and regret for the living and breathing ones, but not a shred of arousal for either one of them. So you really did not attack those girls in  St. Louis , did you?”

Gillian didn’t miss the widening of  Winchester ’s eyes which indicated that Lightman’s assessment had taken him by surprise, but her concentration was broken when Saunders bristled:

“What is he doing, he’s not supposed to take our case against  Winchester apart; you have to stop him, NOW!”

Gillian turned around, aggravated to the point of raising her voice.

“Excuse me when I say it again, but Lightman is in there, doing his _job_. He finds the truth as it is presented to him … one moment, I’m not done … but that doesn’t mean that _he_ has to tell the truth all the time. He needs to establish himself and his skills, or  Winchester is never going to take him seriously. And I would really prefer it if you would finally take on your appointed role and be an observer instead of jeopardizing our analysis by butting in with your less than expert opinion – you might learn something. And by the way, Lightman is not the only member of the team essential for a successful assessment, you know?”

For a moment, Gillian was taken aback by of her own volatile reaction, and thought about apologizing for this unprofessional behaviour, but Saunders finally looked at a loss for words and complied with a feeble nod. Gillian turned back to their quarry and hoped she hadn’t missed anything vital. After all, she needed to concentrate on collecting valuable information that Lightman couldn’t bother with in his current situation.

“Now, that’s a bloody bind that is. You see, the people who hired me to find out whether you’re a special kind of crazy or a special kind of murderous don’t really cotton to me pulling their case out from under them.”

“It’s hardly my fault that I didn’t commit the crimes they’re pinning on me.”

Gillian leaned forward at the unexpected reply. She wouldn’t have thought that  Winchester would open his mouth so early in the game. But then they had profiled him as cocky and overly confident, and she suspected that he also had an extremely strong sense of righteousness that would goad him into defending himself and his mission at some point.

“Ah, but you _did_ commit crimes.”

A cocky smile stretched  Winchester ’s lips.

“No comment.”

“Hilarious”, Lightman answered with a grin of his own before his expression smoothed out in the fraction of a second. “But you did kill people, didn’t you? No, no need to say anything, I can see it all over your face.”

“Really? Ok, I’ll bite, what else does my face tell you then, about the people you think I killed?”

“Oh, it doesn’t tell me anything about them, except what YOU feel about it. Guilt, regret, resignation. Like any soldier, in any war.”

This time  Winchester actually barked out a salvo of cynical laughter. 

“You really have no idea.”

[](http://s365.photobucket.com/albums/oo93/threnodyjones/SNCBB%20TTLB/?action=view&current=TTLB_divider1.jpg)

 

 

“Oh trust me, I know a veteran when I see one, this isn’t my first rodeo either.”

Gillian knew that the paramilitary element of his upbringing would open  Winchester up to relate to experiences with combat situations, and she expected him to jump right in and elaborate on the ideology that the  Winchester ’s had developed to justify their actions. For that reason she was even more surprised when  Winchester leaned forward and answered with a hostility that made the atmosphere turn icy in a heartbeat. 

“I told you, you have not even got the slightest idea. Your battles and mine, they’re not in the same league, in fact, they’re not even in the same universe. You’d do well to understand that.”

Lightman reacted with a mock shiver and his patented shark smile. 

“Oh, is that a threat?”

“Let’s call it a friendly piece of advice. Actually, I’d make sure that I didn’t stay around these parts for too long.”

“Oh, that _does_ sound like a threat.”

“You really don’t get it, do you? I’ll spell it out for you normal people one more time. I’m on the shitlist of a whole host of very powerful and dangerous people, and, flattering as it is, that media shit storm you guys created will have done nothing if not tell them exactly where to find me. And they’ll be really, really happy to rip me to shreds with little regard for who they need to go through to get to me.”

Lightman slowly leaned forward, tension rising in his body and Gillian knew they had seen the same thing. 

“Now that last bit,… that was interesting. Since you really believe that’s the truth. Care to elaborate?”

Winchester sat back with an air of nonchalance and a sense of superiority about him. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Oh, you’re so sure about that? Try me.”

Winchester scoffed before answering: 

”It wouldn’t change a thing. I could tell you every little detail about shifters and vampires and ghosts and djinn that I know to be true, but I’d still be sitting here in this hole, waiting for whichever bastard finds me first. The only difference would be that I’d have a shrink jabbering at me about my psychotic, narcissistic personality disorder, coupled with delusional religious vigilantism and how they can _fix_ me if I only try. They don’t get that there’s nothing to fix.”

Gillian felt once again like she couldn’t get a hold of  Winchester . He did a great job diagnosing himself, and yet there was the underlying belief in the mythological world on which he based his actions that just didn’t fit the profile of a psychotic killer with a backup plan. 

Lightman raised an eyebrow:

“Oi, you think so? If I were your shrink, I’d start with that nasty case of PTSD of yours. Oh, don’t give me that frowny face, sure you have it.”

“If you want to believe that.”

“Oh, you hide it well, underneath that discipline that daddy drilled into your head, be a good soldier, be a man, Winchesters don’t cry, they don’t break…” 

Now Lightman was slowly getting under  Winchester ’s skin, Gillian could feel how the young man was getting unbalanced as every one of the words hit closer to home. 

”…and that attitude of yours, that cock-sure bravado that I bet is a riot with the ladies, and years ago maybe that much was true to your character, but now?” Lightman leaned forward and fixed  Winchester with an unyielding stare, “Now you’re phoning it in, you’re faking it, because deep down you’re just scared, and raw and done with all of it.”

Gillian was surprised that she hadn’t seen it until now, but it was suddenly clear as a day. The sense of something that made this man stand apart from his younger recorded self that she had observed over and over, the apathetic reaction to just about every provocation that Cal had played till now, the fatalistic choice of words that wasn’t directed as a threat towards the people around him, but against himself… 

Winchester ’s face turned blank and stony as he took it all in, but his eyes spoke louder than ever. 

“You know what? I owe you nothing. Don’t think I haven’t dealt with the likes of you. So smug and arrogant because they think they know something about how the world works. Let me guess, you’ve been in combat before.”

Lightman nodded with an offhand gesture.

“But it wasn’t one of the clean operations, it was dirty business, wasn’t it? Blood, and carnage and innocent people dying along the way that you could barely wrap your conscience around until it got all drowned out by the screams of the dying that you can’t erase from your mind any more than you could save them.”

Winchester had leaned forward as far as his chains would allow it, and Gillian tensed at his precise, barbed words that didn’t only betray personal experience, but would also hit Lightman in one of the very few places where his armour of bravado and calculating provocation was thin and pliable. She knew that  Cal had dealt with his experiences during his work for the Pentagon in his own way, but for a dangerous sociopath to hit so close to home with barely any information to go on … it worried her more than she was ready to admit. Martin Walker had gotten  Cal ’s hackles up with his unapologetic certainty that nobody would be able to crack the outer shell that hid his psychopathic and murderous nature, not even the lion in the den. But this one, he was dangerous because he didn’t seem to be at all invested in playing the game. In fact, the most truthful statement he had uttered up to now was the assessment that they were not even playing in the same league, and that was dangerous, very dangerous. 

“I thought so. But let me tell you, whatever you thought you saw in whatever hellhole you spent time in, it’s absolutely nothing compared to the real thing. You want to know what real pain tastes like? Then you need to know how it feels to have your spine ripped out of your back, at a leisurely pace, so you can feel the skin on your back stretch and rip like paper, snapping back from vertebra after vertebra, while all the nerves stay taut, and tight and whole, so you don’t miss a single shred of sensation until the delicate strands unravel and tear. It can take a whole day if done right…. before it starts all over again. And trust me, nothing’s worse than the sound of your spinal cord snapping like a tendon, amplified by a thousand in your own ears.”

The sharp words turned Gillian’s blood to ice, not so much because of the disturbingly graphic description, but because of what played out on  Winchester ’s face while he spoke them. She had seen those emotions and expressions before – on survivors. But it wasn’t possible. There was just no way for something like  Winchester was describing to happen to happen to a person and them surviving the ordeal, and that left one possibility for Dean Winchester to be able to describe it in such vivid detail… 

“Is that a confession? Because I’ve got to say, you look pretty agile for a guy who knows this kind of torture from personal experience.”

Winchester threw his head back and laughed in response – a grating and harsh sound – before he looked straight back at Lightman with a vicious grin stretching his lips. 

“Trust me, there are places that work with no regards for the rules concerning the fragile human body, but they’re no less real.” 

“Interesting, and what do you call this place where they can supposedly rip people apart over and over again?”

Winchester answered with an expression that displayed deadly seriousness and not a shred of the clouded judgement of a deluded mind. 

“Hell.”

[](http://s365.photobucket.com/albums/oo93/threnodyjones/SNCBB%20TTLB/?action=view&current=TTLB_divider1.jpg)

 

It shouldn’t feel that way, but still it was like the utterance of the word conjured up a shadow of blood, and bone and screams. The sudden change in atmosphere was enhanced by the flicker of the single neon light that dimmed for the blink of an eye, casting harsh shadows on the thunderous expression on  Winchester ’s face. Gillian shuddered from an imagined chill, because suddenly the man on the other end of the room looked like the shackles were not fit to hold him here a second longer than he was allowing them to. That he was only held by his own resignation and apathy. 

“Now that was an impressive performance, but I’ve got to say that I don’t buy you trying to convince me of the existence of an imaginary place to justify your actions one bit.”

Gillian knew that wasn’t true, since  Cal had to have seen how  Winchester perceived his version of hell and it was a risky play to pitch such a lie to an opponent who was obviously as adept at reading people as he was at fooling them. And true to his track record,  Winchester threw them a curveball again. He threw a look around the room as if he was suddenly distracted by something before turning back to  Cal and smirking, apparently not at all offended by the way Lightman had just belittled his trauma and his world view all in one. 

“And there we are full circle, I told you, you wouldn’t believe me if I tried. Not that it really matters to me either way, it’s not like just because you think a place or a thing is imaginary that they can’t touch you, believe me, I’ve learned THAT lesson well enough in my life. Question is though, does that get you any closer to figuring out what makes me tick, Doc?”

“Is he going to go anywhere with this, except in circles?”

Gillian kept a sigh and a scream inside after Saunders apparently had recovered enough to threaten her concentration again with her inane comments. 

“Lightman is walking a psychological tightrope in there. He needs to be provocative enough to draw  Winchester out and keep him talking so he can get as many varied physical cues from him as possible to make his read more accurate. At the same time, he is up against a man who knows a lot of tricks – and not by studying for years and years but from natural talent and experience – and is therefore going to be extremely difficult to unbalance. Lightman needs  Winchester to lose his cool and elicit an uncontrolled emotional response if he wants to get to the bottom of things.”

She hadn’t taken her eyes off  Winchester in the meantime, but it didn’t need a high profile psychologist to detect the petulant and immature pout that was curling Saunders’ lips in her reflection as she looked back inside the interrogation room. How that woman had made to the position of a trusted  ADA was anyone’s guess, but her control on her personal feelings couldn’t have been one of the decisive factors. Gillian ignored the woman once more and watched  Cal get ready for a low blow instead. 

“Oh, believe me I have a quite thorough idea of what makes you tick, even though you exhibit the most paradoxical set of reactions that I’ve ever had the chance to read.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Lightman leaned back with his elbow on the backrest of his chair and circled his forefinger, pointing at  Winchester ’s forehead. 

“It sure is, however, that doesn’t mean I don’t have an inkling about what goes on in that seriously – and I mean seriously – screwed up noggin’ of yours.”

Winchester reacted by instinctively trying to cross his arms, a motion forcefully aborted by the handcuffs around his wrists. Lightman used the minute flinch of humiliation to press on with his next move. 

“Here’s what I think, which is just about the only way to explain your impossibly weird mixture of psychological trauma, indoctrination, delusion and survivor’s guilt.”

Gillian thought for a moment that she heard  Winchester mutter ‘apart from the actual truth’ under his breath.  Cal gestured dismissively with his free hand as he delivered his profile. 

“I think, Daddy went a bit off the rails on his rampage for revenge against some untouchable foe and it left _you_ holding the family together by the skin of your teeth, be a good boy, do as you’re told, take care of Sammy, protect your brother with all that you have…”

She could see that the assessment hit its mark by how considerably  Winchester tensed up the closer  Cal got to the wild card – the little brother. 

“Now, nobody can blame you for not being up for the job, what with being only a kid yourself, but you do your best, because family comes before everything, isn’t that so Dean?”

Winchester didn’t answer verbally, but the muscle jumping in his jaw indicating the gritted teeth and the deepening of the lines between his brows was all the answer  Cal needed. 

“So when I looked through your files – and even though your rap sheet is twice my arm’s length I’m sure that those record’s have more holes than Swiss cheese concerning what you’ve actually been up to – I couldn’t help but wonder. You’re cocky and know your way around a con and you’ve certainly got no scruples ripping off people for whatever gain you see fit, but apart from a bit of brawling there’s little evidence of excessive violence on your records.”

It was something that Gillian had noted when reviewing the files as well, the way Dean Winchester’s profile bounced around with no apparent pattern that would fit any particular profile.

“But then you show up in Palo Alto, pluck your brother out of his dandy college life that’s just gone to hell in a hand basket and suddenly the Winchesters are all over the place, torturing people, robbing banks, blowing up sheriff stations, racking up a body count that’s nearly unprecedented, disaster always riding their coattails. And that gets me thinking, what if – since you’re the nurturer of the family after all – this isn’t you wreaking havoc just because you can or because the voices tell you to, what if this is just you cleaning up yet another mess little brother’s made, because it’s Sammy who’s the devil incarnate.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

[ ](http://s365.photobucket.com/albums/oo93/threnodyjones/SNCBB%20TTLB/?action=view&current=TTLB_scene1.jpg)

  
She had been expecting a violent reaction on  Winchester ’s part following this insinuation, but Gillian was in no way prepared for the shit storm that breaks loose in the interrogation room in the wake of  Cal ’s last words.  Winchester ’s face transformed into a mask of unadulterated rage from one second to the next. He snarled and flung himself bodily out of his chair and over the table at Lightman, only held back by the fact that the latter was still bolted firmly to the ground and that he was still safely attached to it. Still, he seemed to be in control enough to use the whole length of chain available to him and his fist is only stopped a few inches in front of Lightman’s face, who had leaned in to pretend to peruse the file. 

“Don’t you _dare_ talk about my brother like that, you have no right. You OWE him.”

Saunders cried out in shock next to her and Gillian barely got it together fast enough to fling the door open and shout for backup for the one guard that was posted in front of the door, who had already stormed into the interrogation room into the middle of the turmoil, where Winchester was still struggling against his shackles while screaming himself hoarse with obscenities. 

“You fucking owe him EVERYTHING, you arrogant little fucks, sitting here all high and mighty, like you know how the world works, like you know what kind of sacrifices it took to keep your precious plane of existence from being wiped out from under your pompous fucking asses.”

Winchester had his torso pressed flat on the table, being restrained by two guards leaning their whole weight on his back. He still twisted and turned as if he had the chance to break free while his murderous gaze was completely focused on Lightman, who sat there unmoving, not a single hair out of place, like he  was jumped by rampaging sociopaths every other day. But Gillian knew him too well. She knew that he’d been genuinely shaken by the intensity of the reaction. That never happened to  Cal , he always landed on his feet, no matter what was thrown at him, but for a moment there it felt like he was seriously speechless, and suddenly the air in the room felt thick and suffocating to Gillian. She imagined the smell of rotten eggs permeating everything, rendering the oxygen in the room useless for a drawn out second. 

The second it took Lightman to recover was just long enough for a switch to flip in Winchester who jerked his head up one last time and then slumped onto the table like a puppet with all the strings cut, all the tension running out of his body at once, leaving him listless and unresponsive. 

“What was that all about then?”  
  
    
  
Cal asked as the two guards dragged  Winchester roughly back into his chair and only stepped back warily when Lightman indicated with a raised eyebrow for them to let him go. Gillian took a deep breath to collect herself for the shock and felt her head spinning from the rapid course of events, because, as violently as Winchester reacted to the mention of his brother,  just as abruptly did he fold up into himself, as if  that burst of frantic energy was all that was left inside him, and when the chains had arrested that in mid-motion, everything broke apart. Still, she was not at all prepared for the man to bow down until his forehead rested upon the table, hiding his face from the stale, flickering light overhead. His shoulders trembled with the enormous effort of keeping the scream that was apparently bubbling right underneath the surface, locked up inside him. Dean Winchester was obviously nothing if not a man of pride, and for him to lose it like that in front of complete strangers was only explicable by the presence of an unimaginable trauma that had been unlocked, tragedy, loss, … grief. 

Lightman looked up at the guards and flicked his hand in the direction of the door to indicate for them to leave. They look appropriately reluctant, but  Winchester was still as securely trussed up as he was before the incident and obviously right now way less of a danger than he had seemed to be a couple of minutes ago. They vacated the room after a few seconds, but Gillian could tell from the silhouettes that there were now two shadows cast right outside the door. For a moment the room was dead silent, and Gillian wondered if this would be the first time Cal Lightman has ever been struck speechless by an opponent. A different voice ripped her out of her thoughts before she can think of a likely strategy to go on. 

“Not so badass after all, huh?”

The indifferent callousness of the statement hit Gillian hard. Even with all that  Winchester ’s done, his pain didn’t deserve such a dismissal, especially since the capability of such an emotional response revealed a kind of humanity that even the most scheming of psychopaths wouldn’t be able to phone in. 

“His reactions are exaggerated, but hardly surprising considering the ultimate level of co-dependency that is indicated by what we know about his relationship with his brother. If something happened to break up their unit, it’s no wonder that he’s off his game and making mistakes like he did when he got himself arrested.”

“So, that’s what Lightman’s been gunning for all this time, with all the skedaddling around the issue, why didn’t he just go straight for the brother?”

“Of course it is, his method relies on unbalancing the subjects to elicit involuntary responses that they can’t control and direct, so we get authentic reads on their real agenda. But he couldn’t very well come out with that right away. He needs to get a feel for a person before he can push their buttons like that.”

“Ha, looks like Dean Winchester’s got more buttons to push than a twenty-storey elevator.”

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t come as a surprise given his personal track record. However, make no mistake in assuming that he’s any less dangerous for it now. On the contrary, this is a challenge that only someone with a whole lot or experience can handle.”

Gillian observed the room on the other side of the window and her senses went on high alert again the moment she noticed that  Cal had figured out what to do next. 

“I have to be honest, I think you’re more than just a bit barmy, but I didn’t take you for one of them Judgement Day nuts that are out there preaching the end of the world.”

Winchester didn’t move for a moment, but then he lifted his head slightly and stared at Lightman with steely eyes that had something dark and knowledgeable behind them. 

“Oh believe me, I’m not preaching, I know exactly when and where it was supposed to take place. “

Lightman raises an eyebrow slowly, his answer dripping with sarcasm.

“So you mean to tell me that you’ve got legit intel on the end of the world?”

“Trust me, if you got front row seats for the celebrity death match between angels and demons, you might be the last to know, but you _do_ get to know. And let me tell you, it isn’t a fun ride.”

Winchester allowed himself the remnants of a smirk and sat there, leaning back in a slouch, shoulders relaxed, hands nestled in his lap. Gone the man that had just erupted into blazing mad rage. Gillian was both fascinated and wary of the development, but she knew  Cal was doing well steering the conversation away from the brother. That was a hot button that was covering a trauma too fresh and stark to get them anywhere. 

“Demons, eh?”

The key to  Winchester – naturally talented as he is at reading people much like they do – was giving him genuine emotions that passed his scrutiny and kept him from shutting down. Gillian knew that  Cal ’s interest wasn’t fake, he was always intrigued by the countless different ways that people put their perspective on the world together. 

“Oh yeah, nasty little buggers. Possessing people is their way of getting around here, and they’re damn difficult to get rid of if you want to keep the host alive. That’s how your perfectly straight and narrow neighbour turns into a sadistic psycho out to mess with your head, because they don’t actually ask for permission to ride people’s bodies before they go off and leave carnage in their wake. And since they’ve perfected the art of blending in, even a nifty, manipulative, asshole shrink like you wouldn’t be able to tell them from Jack if you don’t know the signs.”

“And what are those?”

“They’re really having a ball in there, aren’t they? Playing ping-pong off each other and never gaining any ground.”

Gillian flicked her eyes at Saunders for a moment before concentrating again on what was going on in the other room. She wondered, however, at the sudden change of attitude and expression that didn’t fit the blonde’s personality at all. Even so, it was more important right now to observe  Winchester as he divulged a part of the unique perspective that shaped his world and made him the person he was. 

“What? Now you want me to give you a Bump in the Night 101?”

Lightman smirked and inclined his head slightly.

“Call it scholarly interest if you like, or one of those zombie apocalypse manuals…”

Winchester curled his lip a little in return, much like a pro would about the fumbling attempts of an amateur. 

“Trust me, zombies are easy, but when you are on the look-out for a demon, there’s only a few things you can track to find them out.”

“Such as…?”

“Electricity. They mess with it. The big bosses will give you full out electric storms and such, but even a low level demon will cause little outages. Thing you’d barely notice as out of the ordinary, temperamental wiring, flickering lights…”

Winchester showed absolutely no signs that he believed that what he was saying was anything but the truth. An insane truth, no doubt, but reality for him all the same, after all, faulty light bulbs were hardly a supernatural occurrence.

“But then, a lot of supernatural phenomena involve electrical mishaps, so to be sure you’ve got a demon on your hands you’ve got to find the signature of Hell, fire and brimstone.”

“Fire and Brimstone, eh?”

“Well, if you’re in the business you know that a lot of legends and portents are true, but entirely less poetic in the real world. You find that rotten egg stink, and the bright yellow of sulphur anywhere near? There’s one of them around for sure.”

Gillian’s nose twitched, and she resisted the urge to scratch at it.

“For all of his pathetic state, Dean Winchester sure hasn’t lost his taste for the dramatic it seems.”

The comment washed right over Gillian until the sense of the words registered, and she turned around with a cold coil of dread lying like a stone in her belly. 

“What did you say?”

When she looked Saunders in the face, eyes dancing over the sleek, pretty features, looking for the cues that she’d marked down since getting to know the young lawyer, a feeling of utter wrongness stole over her. Gillian realized that the micro expressions she was taking in from Saunders now were entirely different from anything she’d seen before from her and reflected a whole separate set of emotions and characteristics. It was as if she was standing in front of another person entirely. Saunders held her gaze for a few seconds, and then a small smirk stretched her lips.

“So, you’ve picked up on it, have you?”

“And if you have a particular person picked out as a suspect, you can unmask them with the exposure to holy water, which burns them, or by making them reveal their true nature in earshot of the uttering of the Lord’s name. Christo.”

Gillian was stunned motionless when Saunders hissed and it looked for a moment as if a second set of lids had slid over her eyes, turning her entire eyeballs inky black like a bottomless pit. Her mind was scrambling to put together the impossibility of what was happening, but before she could find her voice to make any attempt at a reply, Saunders eyes changed back, and her face turned into a grimace of malice and evil.

“I think I’ve waited around long enough, let’s play, shall we?”

And before Gillian could do anything, an invisible force slammed into her from the side and flung her against the window, which promptly exploded into a sharp rain of splinters and into the interrogation room behind. She felt her shoulder connect with the glass, and something cracked inside, before pain bloomed all over, radiating down her arm and up her neck. An agonized scream was wrenched from her throat as she landed on the floor and slid to Dean Winchester’s feet. He was standing, flinging the water at the blonde, chains dangling uselessly from one wrist. Through the haze of pain she heard  Cal shout, and every stick of furniture in the room slammed into the wall with full force, even the bolted table. Saunders was climbing over the remnants of the shattered window like a cat, heedless of remaining shards cutting her hands open, while the blood flowed freely, and skin smoked and blistered where the water had hit her.    
  


[](http://s365.photobucket.com/albums/oo93/threnodyjones/SNCBB%20TTLB/?action=view&current=TTLB_divider1.jpg)

 

“Deano, Deano, that was not nice… but you know as well as I do that a few specks of holy water are not going to stop me.”

Gillian watched in disbelief as the petite woman moved through the room and closed her hand around  Winchester ’s throat to drag him with her and slam him against the opposite wall with considerable force and speed. Unable to do anything to intervene, she tried to breathe through the pain and make heads and tails of what was happening.

“Meg.”

“That’s right. I must say I’m really, really not amused at what you did with the whole apocalypse, or that thanks to your meddling I’m very much a persona non grata everywhere, especially downstairs, instead of holding my rightful place on top of the food chain. You, and your brother, and your feathery friend who really needs to learn how to treat a lady, seriously rained on my parade. Imagine my unholy glee when you surfaced right here, out in the open and up for grabs, after that little, self destructive rampage you pulled. I’m going to enjoy wrapping your entrails around my little finger so.very.much.”

Gillian felt her nostrils flare, and she wanted to think about moving, about passing out – which was such a bad idea – but everything about her seemed frozen in place, silent witness to the impossible scenario that was playing out in front of her. Her mind shied away from the notion that Dean Winchester might actually be neither delusional nor psychotic, but… truthful.

“So, is there anything you’d like to say for yourself before I start ripping you open?”

Winchester let out a grunt of pain as she closed her vicelike grip around his throat just a little bit further. He stared right at her and then answered with a rough voice, clearly short of breath. 

“Just that I … picked up a few new… tricks as well…”

And then he spoke a short string of words that slithered into Gillian’s one ear and right out of the other as if they were living things that refused to stay in place, but they left a burning awe behind and had the most peculiar effect on Saunders. Her back bowed with incredible tension, and  Winchester choked as her fingers spasmed around his throat, before a keening wail erupted from her, and in the blink of an eye, she was gone. Just… vanished from one second to the next.  Winchester slumped down against the wall, breathing heavily with his hand on the bruised skin of his neck. When he finally looked up, and around the room, Gillian saw cold calculation and burning anger in his eyes, but also a fierce streak of determination around his mouth, and she did not doubt for a second longer that this was the most dangerous man she had ever encountered.

Winchester moved with single-minded purpose before she could even register that the unnatural bounds that seemed to have frozen her in place had dissipated, and she rolled off what felt like it might be a snapped collarbone with a pained groan. 

“You better not think about doing anything stupid, and go over to your lady friend to make sure she isn’t in immediate danger.”

Through hazy vision, Gillian saw  Winchester on the other end of the room, but he vision cleared from the adrenaline suddenly pumping through her as she realized that he had picked up one of the bigger shards of the broken window.  Cal knew how to pick his battles at least and scrambled out of his chair and past  Winchester to her to whisper encouragements and precise questions about her wellbeing.  She couldn’t take her eyes off the vicious killer, who had bent down to make quick work of unlocking the ankle chains which were the only thing that kept his movement impaired. The words were out before she could think much about them.

“How did you even get free?”

Winchester looked up and threw her a grin that was almost mischievous as he dropped the shackles.

“You really shouldn’t have paperclips littered all over your files, and leaving them right there on the table up for grabs is a mistake.”

Her eyes widened as she realized that even during his genuine outburst about his brother, some part of Dean had retained enough control to actually calculate an escape option. 

“And what do you intend to do now? Butcher us and then shoot yourself out of a high security facility or something?”

Since Cal was satisfied that she was in pain but not in immediate danger of going into shock or bleeding out from the various surface lacerations on her shoulder and arms, he was working on keeping Winchester’s focus on him while he tracked the man’s every move. What he didn’t mention was how the two guards outside had not reacted to the considerable mayhem in the room which meant that they were most likely on their own.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I bought us about three minutes, half of which is already over, spent talking about inconsequential shit. I have to make sure that we have a way better temporary solution set up when she comes crawling back in.”

Inconceivably,  Winchester used the glass to cut his own forearm, blood welling up thick and red from the skin at once.

“What do you mean, when she comes crawling back in? That was the supervisory assistant attorney for the DA and …” 

Winchester interrupted her while he dipped his fingers into the blood and begun to draw a circle on the rough concrete of the floor.

“Yes, I can see how much you believe that. You know, as much as I don’t like introducing people to the supernatural underbelly of the world the hard way, you just met your first demon, and you pretty much got a show you can’t just rationalize away like most people do, so cut the bullshit. This demon is a grade A bitch, and she’s going to rip out your lungs just as soon as throw you clear through a window to get to me, since we have quite the history with each other, and the spell I banished her with will keep her away just long enough to get this protection circle done. So here’s what you’re going to do, you’re going to pick up the lady and carry her inside this circle, with special care not to disturb the lines. Either that, or you can sit out there and wait for her to paint the walls with your guts, your choice.”

[](http://s365.photobucket.com/albums/oo93/threnodyjones/SNCBB%20TTLB/?action=view&current=TTLB_divider1.jpg)

 

 

Cal looked at  Winchester for a couple of heartbeats, and Gillian could feel the doubt and indecision warring inside him. He had not seen those inky black eyes after all, but he must have found something in  Winchester ’s expression that tipped the scales. He picked her up and walked over, stepping over the bloody line with caution before he set her down carefully, wincing at her hiss of pain.  Winchester ignored them even though they only were a couple of feet away from each other. Just seconds later, he finished drawing the sigils in his blood, and the whole circle lit up for the blink of an eye.  Before Gillian could puzzle out what to think of it, she noticed a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye and looked up to find Saunders scowling at them from just outside the circle.

“You _did_ learn a few new tricks, huh? Making me leave the party early, Dean. Now that’s not nice.”

“Throwing people through windows to make your own door is much worse on the count of hospitality.”

“Psht, a couple of broken bones – there’s much worse that you can do to a human body before it gets real interesting., You and me both know how, don’t we? Why don’t you come outside your little foxhole, give us a song and dance, so we can have a bit of fun. I’ll even go so far as to promise you not to break your pretty little lady any more.”

Gillian felt  Cal tense at her side, but the most remarkable thing that happened was the way  Winchester instinctively moved to shield her from the … demon’s view as he put his body between them, effectively leaving his back wide open to them. She didn’t even need her considerable amount of training and knowledge to determine that a man displaying these reactions wouldn’t deliberately hurt a woman the way he’d been accused of doing – apart from the fact that demons were real, and the whole case had just turned on its head completely anyway. 

“You know as well as I do that you can’t touch us in here, there’s no reason for me to come out”

She pouted indignantly.

“Oh, but then again, you can’t stay in there forever, can you? And trust me, the way I can wait you out is way more effective what without the need for sustenance or water or medical attention. What are you going to do, wait for the cavalry?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Ha, do that, but you know the price for the kind of bloodwork you did there is that I can’t get in, but you can’t get me exorcised without stepping out of the circle, and that would break the spell.”

“You know me, jack of all trades. I always come up with something.”

The person that was definitely not Saunders snorted in response.

“You keep telling yourself that. But the one thing you can’t keep out is words, right? How about I tell your friends a few stories about the great Dean Winchester while we wait?”

Winchester tensed even further, but all his strength seemed to go into confining him into this small place he had made for himself as a voluntary prison as much as protection. 

“Huh, go ahead; see if they believe you; apparently they’re the experts at spotting lies.”

The demon –  Winchester had called her Meg – started prowling around the circle that for some unfathomable reason really seemed to keep her out. It made the hair on Gillian’s neck stand on end, and she leaned into  Cal with a shudder that was born more of unease than of pain.

“Oh, I know, I’ve been hanging around. I have to say it’s quite fascinating to watch them trying to unearth the truth from all the things that people don’t say. How do you think you’re going to do with the Queen of Lies, feel up for the challenge?”

The last bit was clearly directed at  Cal , and Gillian knew that he would rise to the challenge no matter what, but maybe it would occupy her enough for  Winchester to actually come up with a way out of this mess. 

“My suspension of disbelief has been as stretched thin as it goes today, so hit me up.”

Gillian could feel  Cal grasping desperately for even the slightest shred of the control that he had so utterly lost the moment she’d come crashing through that window.

“My, Dean, this one’s frisky, isn’t he? Tell me, did you believe what our dear boy was telling you as the truth?”

Cal looked at her with a raised eyebrow and exuding more confidence than Gillian knew he could possibly have been feeling. Anxiety filled her at the thought of him sparring verbally with that creature.

“Of course not, he was accused of a list of heinous crimes and basically tried to get out of it by claiming that the devil made him do it.”

A bout of pearly laughter filled the room, a sound completely befitting Saunders appearance, but somehow it felt grating and wrong. 

“Do you hear that, Dean? What a curious choice of words, trust me, the devil has never been able to make Dean Winchester do anything, and, let me tell you, THAT threw an enormous wrench into many people’s plans.”

Her eyes darkened from mischievous to hostile in a heartbeat, and it dropped the temperature in the room ten degrees.

“It’s not my fault that you lot chose to ignore the free will clause until it came back to bite you in the ass,”  Winchester answered.

“Didn’t keep you from making a mess, did it? Did he tell you how prettily he begged and screamed on the rack? I’ll tell you that’s Hell on your soul, quite literally. If only you could look at him like I do, see the beautiful ribbons and shreds, half healed scars even after years, but then, that pales in comparison to Sam, doesn’t it?” 

At that moment, Gillian realized that  Cal had only gotten half a sentence in, and that this was not a sparring match at all. This was just a complicated ruse to goad  Winchester into acting irrationally.

“Don’t listen to her.”

She tried to plead with the young man even though it was a lost cause against the horrific images Meg painted with her words.

“Poor little baby brother, all alone in the pit, with Lucifer for company… how many shreds do you think are left of Sammy? Do you think he screams your name, curses you, because he took the fall for something _you_ started?”

Gillian sensed the tension running taut through every muscle of  Winchester ’s body, and it felt almost like a tremor was rumbling through the ground. 

“You bitch, don’t you dare…”

“And still, there you are, Dean Winchester, ever the hero. If not for you two, he would have let me rip him to shreds already, take the remains of his tattered soul back to Hell where he belongs.”

Dean balled his hands to fists and the pulse at his neck throbbed, but other than rocking half an inch on his toes, he didn’t move. 

“And I don’t know, maybe if he would listen closely enough, he’d be able to hear Sammy scream.”

Gillian knew the exact moment Dean snapped, his face contorting into a grimace of grief, pain and rage that she had never witnessed before. He roared and came at her swinging, all thoughts of spells and protection forgotten, and she was waiting for him, a predatory glint in her eyes. They crashed into each other and against the wall, but before anything else could happen, the overhead light exploded with a flurry of shards and sparks and the door blew inwards and halfway off its hinges making her and Cal stumble against the table in the corner. A man appeared in the open doorway with a grave expression and long purposeful strides. The demon turned around, and when she spotted the new arrival, her eyes grew large, and she uttered an emphatic “Ho, SHIT!”  Then Gillian witnessed how Saunders threw her head back, and a cloud of filthy black smoke erupted from her mouth. The blonde folded to the side like a house of cards, while  Winchester slid down the wall in a heap, ragged breath and a tear track running down the corner of his eye. He let his head fall back against the wall with an audible thump and looked blearily up to the man who laid his hand on his shoulder to get his attention. He didn’t seem the slightest bit fazed that an entity that had made the most grievous threats against their lives just moments ago had taken one short look at the other man and bailed on the spot.  

“Cas, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“You’re not an easy man to find if I have no means of contacting you Dean,” the look that Winchester threw the man spoke volumes about how that was the point exactly, “however, the public spectacle of your arrest and imminent trial proved to be very fortunate indeed.”

Gillian tried to puzzle out what was so _off_ about this man, since he looked perfectly ordinary in his suit and trench coat, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.  Winchester , however, seemed to know perfectly well who he was talking to while he slowly scrambled to his feet.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

The pinched look around the man’s mouth was the first true sign of human emotion that she could read, Gillian realized. Up until now, his features had stayed eerily blank. 

“This you will want to hear, Dean.”

Winchester straightened slowly and looked at the man expectantly with narrowed eyes. 

“I found Sam.”

For a split second, she saw Dean’s legs give out, before he caught himself again, balanced by a hand on his elbow.

“You’re… no, you… you can’t. Don’t…”

“It’s the truth, Dean, he’s here. He’s al… he’s here.”

It was as if time had stopped for a moment while Dean’s eyes flew over the stranger’s face, searching even for the smallest hint of deceit, and when he didn’t seem to find it, a marvellous transformation went over his features. Years seemed to fall away from him like seconds, and the lines that pain and grief had etched into his face lightened in an instant. He grabbed the other man by the arm and shook him slightly. 

“What are you waiting for then, get me out of here, now.”

Gillian had no idea how they were going to just walk out of a high security prison, but she knew that this would be her only chance to get a word in.

“Wait, you can’t just leave like that!”

Dean turned and looked at them as if he’d forgotten their very existence until this moment, but when he met her eyes, a cocky grin lit up his face that allowed her to finally recognize the confident young man staring into the camera of a police interrogation room. 

“Oh, watch me, lady.”

“But how are we going to explain this? We don’t even know your whole story yet! There is so much more…”

“I’m sorry, I really am, normally I don’t like leaving loose ends like this, but this can’t wait, so you’re just going to have to go read the books.”

Gillian wanted to protest, but before she could get any more words out, the sound of fluttering feathers filled the air, and both Dean Winchester and the strange man had vanished, literally in the blink of an eye. They stared at the empty space and then each other, and Gillian vaguely registered in the back of her head that Cal Lightman had apparently been stunned speechless for the first time in his life. The silence was broken by a low groan from the floor where Saunders was slowly returning to consciousness. She lifted herself up on her elbows and blinked owlishly at them. 

“What… happened?”

In that moment, shouts could suddenly be heard from the corridor and seconds later, guards stormed through the blasted door with raised guns and panicked expressions at the carnage in the room. When they noticed their prisoner was gone and the interrogation room had been trashed, there was some more shouting and threats of more carnage. In light of the day she’d just had, Gillian didn’t find it all that exciting, truth be told. But then, this was not quite a normal day at the office anyway. 

_ Weeks Later _

Gillian sat at her desk and turned over the last pages of the loosely bound stack of paper in front of her. The aftermath of ‘the Winchester Affair’ as it had been dubbed in certain circles had rocked quite a few boats and involved a lot of really fast talking that even Lightman could count himself proud of. Mostly, the higher ups were interested in letting the public relations inferno over the escape of an alleged psychotic serial killer die a swift and thorough death. The Lightman Group – in lieu of their review – had found a whole host of inconsistencies with the case that led to all but a few charges being thrown out. That did not exactly win them any points with the FBI or the DA’s office, but in search for the truth you couldn’t bend the rules just because you didn’t like what you got. Dean Winchester was still a fugitive and person of interest in many open cases, but the priority of the chase had been shoved to the bottom of the barrel.  
  
As for the … other… things, Gillian and Lightman had pointedly ‘not talked about’ those, but she knew well enough that he had secretly gone back to scouring his old field studies and ancient anthropology books for clues as to which myths and legends had the potential to be out to get you for real, and she was quite certain that he’d found out that Bigfoot was indeed a hoax. As for herself, she couldn’t put Dean’s last words out of her mind, and on a whim decided to search outside of the scientific or criminalistic parameters. A simple web search made her stumble upon the underground cult series ‘Supernatural’ by Carver Edlund, which was quite frankly an eye opener concerning everything that had transpired. After a few discreet calls, she had even come in contact with the publisher that maintained the reclusive author’s estate and acquired exclusive copies of the later, unpublished works. After reading the last few pages on how a car had saved the world from certain doom, half of her still wasn’t quite sure whether or not the whole encounter had been a very elaborate hallucination – the kind that a rational mind would explain away with either a whole bunch of restricted substances or a serious blow to the head. But a different part of her was looking forward to the possibility that the Lightman Group might encounter the Winchesters again in the future to spar for the truth once more. Meanwhile, there was this chest from her great-grand-aunt that had been rattling around her mother’s attic ever since she could remember… 

The end

 


End file.
